There Will Your Heart Be Also
by Brenda Shaffer-Shiring
Summary: 45 years after their exile to New Earth, Janeway and Chakotay receive some unexpected visitors. A Resolutions VERY alternate universe story.


TITLE: There Will Your Heart Be Also  
AUTHOR: Brenda Shaffer-Shiring  
FEEDBACK TO: shafshir@microconnect.net  
SERIES: ST: Voy  
CODES: J/C AU  
PARTS: 1/1  
RATING: PG-13  
DISCLAIMER: Paramount owns the characters and situations, but probably didn't anticipate this particular use of them.  
SUMMARY: Forty-five years after their exile to New Earth, Janeway and Chakotay have some unexpected visitors.  
TECHNICAL NOTE: This story contains three flashback sequences, indicated by double lines of asterisks. // indicates thoughts.  
REMARKS: It's been said that every Voyager shipper has their own "Resolutions" story....well, this is mine. I don't often succumb to the impulse to be unabashedly romantic, but I did here; consider yourself warned.  
As noted elsewhere, I'm not much of a J/Cer these days, but I wrote a *lot* of J/C back when I was, and this piece is still one of my favorites. It originally appeared in the Orion Press fanzine "Wayfarers 2" (out of print).  
  
  
  
There Will Your Heart Be Also  
by Brenda Shaffer-Shiring  
  
  
For where your treasure is, there will your heart be also.  
--Luke 12:34  
  
  
The old woman raised a hand to shade her eyes, as she stepped out of the woods and into the bright sunlight of the clearing. The fingers of her other hand curled tightly around the handle of a bucket, bright silver once but dulled to grayness now by age and use. In the bucket were berries, of the small, dark-red, flavorful variety her companion loved above all the other fruits of New Earth.  
  
As she advanced through the clearing, as steadily as she ever had if not as swiftly, her eyes picked out the details of the lodging that graced its center. A Starfleet emergency shelter formed its nucleus; around the shelter were several smaller rooms built of native timber, carefully selected, carved, seasoned, and placed these many years ago to form a pattern as attractive as it was sturdy. At the windows of those rooms, curtains blew in the soft, fragrant breeze, curtains that the woman knew on closer inspection would show signs of hand-weaving, and of the bright, primitive colors that native dyes easily produced. And lying before the small complex, in a hammock whose fabric would show the same signs of indigenous manufacture as the curtains, lay a man's long body, clad in a deep-blue shirt and lighter blue pants. She did not need to see the old man's face to guess that his eyes were closed.  
  
She smiled affectionately, hearing in her head the words he would no doubt utter the very moment she awakened him. "...wasn't asleep," he'd say, just as he always said when she caught him drowsing in the hammock in the middle of the day. "Just thinking." And if she pressed, he would invent on the spot some story about what he'd been thinking of, a tale domestic, fanciful, amusing, erotic, whichever direction his fancy took him. She remembered the time he had told her he'd been thinking of going dragon-hunting, and described in great detail his planned approach to the creature's lair....  
  
But today, she thought, she wouldn't press. She would just nod and smile and agree, and her fingertips would glide over the sun-warmed skin of his temple and his tattoo to gloss lightly over the silver thickness of his hair. Then she would present him with her prize, and bask in the forever-unfaded brilliance of his smile. And when he took the berries into the kitchen, to prepare them for baking in the tasty little tarts and cookies and cakes he loved to make almost as much as she loved to eat (and if a few handfuls of berries disappeared before they ever made their acquaintance with flour or sugar or even cooking pot, that was not such a very large price to pay for such exquisite treats)....well then, perhaps she would take his place in the hammock and drowse a bit herself. The sun was warm, the breeze soft and sweet, her porcelain skin already well-protected by sunscreen--what more did one require for a perfect nap?  
  
Forty-five years ago, she would have thought the simplicity of such a life as theirs would drive her mad, yet she realized now that she had come to cherish it. There was a peace to their time together that she had never known in her other days, when she had been younger and more ambitious. He had taught her that peace, gifted it to her: the ability to let each day, each season, unfold at its own pace, to live life in the present without regret for the past or anxiety for the future.  
  
*****  
*****  
"Close your eyes," he murmured, "and listen. Let the sound of the breeze fill your ears. Hear it how it makes the grass rustle, and the leaves on the trees. Listen, Kathryn. Do you hear it?" The sound of his voice was itself like the breeze: a gentle rustling of sound.  
  
"I hear it," she breathed.  
  
"Listen," he said again, and the slow moments passed while she obeyed, focusing her ears on the sounds made by the wind and by the low sussuration of his breathing. "Now smell it. Wind isn't just oxygen, Kathryn; it isn't just something we need to survive. It's also something to give us pleasure. Breathe it in deeply. Smell the heat, smell the soil, smell the scent of the grass and the flowers." Again she obeyed, feeling a faint startlement at the number and variety of aromas that scented the air. "Taste it."  
  
That made her smile. "Air doesn't have a taste, Chakotay."  
  
"You don't know that," he answered, unruffled. "You're experiencing it with your mind, not with your senses. "Taste it." She opened her mouth, thought of the air molecules landing delicately on her tastebuds, tried to taste...and there it was, to her surprise, a fragile flavor, light and earthy all at once. She gasped, startled, and knew he noticed. She almost heard his smile as he went on, "Now feel it. Feel it drifting over your skin, caressing your face, lifting the little hairs on your arms, moving over your legs." That was easy, and she gave herself over to it, the sensation of the currents tracing over her skin and pressing lightly against the fabric of her skirt.  
  
After a time--she would never know exactly how long, but it didn't seem to matter--he murmured one last instruction. "Now, look."  
  
She opened her eyes, and saw his sparkling back at her.  
*****  
*****  
  
Remembering, she stopped where she stood, set down her bucket, and let herself experience the sensations all over again: sound and smell and taste and touch and sight, all the same as they had ever been, all minutely different. The experience was timeless, but each moment unique. After she knew not how long, she picked up the bucket again and went on toward the buildings. The grass waved before her in the light breeze, playfully catching at her feet.  
  
To live every moment....born restless, born to move, she had needed to be re-schooled in that lesson many times, but he had never minded going over it again, and again. He was as patient as the Earth itself - no, she corrected, smiling gently, as patient as New Earth, waiting for her to adapt to it.  
  
In turn, she had given him lessons, to remind him of the explorers they had been, and still were. He submitted to her lead as gracefully as he ever had, and with as little sacrifice of his essential self.  
  
*****  
*****  
"Here," she said, pointing to a cluster of foliage along the bank some little way upstream. Obediently, he steered the boat to the river's edge, climbing out and pulling the small vessel onto the shore.  
  
She knelt beside the little stand of foliage, carefully examining the long-leaved plants with their clusters of purple flowers. "I thought so," she said triumphantly. "This is a new one. It doesn't grow near the shelter."  
  
He knelt beside her, cupping one dark-green leaf in long tan fingers. "I think you're right. I don't remember seeing this one before. Want to get some tricorder readings?"  
  
"Hmm...yes, a few. Let me get a sketch of it first." He reached for her waterproof knapsack and handed it to her. Undoing the little catches, she reached in and took out her sketchpad and pencils. She had not done much drawing before they'd come to this planet, this second Earth of theirs. In the age of holography, such a primitive method of reproducing visual images had once seemed like a waste of time to Kathryn; besides, art had always been her sister's province, not her own. But Chakotay had taught her a different way of looking at things. Besides, something in the timeless quality of the craft seemed right for this timeless place. And, once she had disciplined herself to master drawing's rudiments, Kathryn had discovered that, like her sister, she too possessed a certain native talent.  
  
In minutes, the plants bloomed on her broad sheet of paper. She studied the drawing carefully, erasing the trailing edge of one leaf and replacing it with one that was more sharply defined, carefully reworking the shapes of a few flowers. Finally she stopped, satisfied, only to realize her companion had abandoned her. "Chakotay, where are you?"  
  
"Gathering lunch." Chakotay's light warm tenor drifted back to her on the fragrant breeze, and she turned to see him approaching her, a partly-filled carry sack draped over his shoulder. "I found a stand of berry bushes," and he gestured toward some distant shrubs.  
  
"What kind?" she asked. In answer, he dipped a hand into the bag and withdrew a half-handful of the small dark-red variety he liked so much. "Trust you to find those," she said, bemused. He shrugged, popping a few berries into his mouth.  
  
"You know me, a slave to my stomach. Do you have your readings yet?"  
  
"Just a minute." She withdrew the tricorder from its protected pocket in her knapsack and began to gather data. "Hmm. Looks pretty good." She showed the display to him.  
  
After a few moments, he nodded. "I see what you mean." He plucked a leaf from its place, took a sampling bite out of it.  
  
"Chakotay!" she chided, half-surprised, half-laughing.  
  
His eyes sparkled. "Your readings said we *could* eat it. I thought we should test to see if we'd *want* to."  
  
She shook her head, smiling. "And your results?"  
  
"I'd say, oh, a ninety-percent probability we'll enjoy it." He tore off a piece and placed it on her lips. "Tastes pretty good to me." She bit down, and tasted mint.  
*****  
*****  
  
Those plants, to which she had given a botanical classification and which he'd nicknamed "river flowers," had turned out to be one of her more useful discoveries. Trying various techniques and possibilities, Chakotay had learned that, properly dried, the leaves made a wonderful, flavorful addition to stews, soups, and salads. For her part, Kathryn had determined that, if well-irrigated, the plants could be propagated in the field near the emergency shelter.  
  
On other expeditions, Kathryn and Chakotay had found additional treasures: medicinals, edibles, seasoning herbs. Often, as with the river flowers, she made the discoveries, performed the analyses, did the experiments, and he took on the task of fitting the newfound commodities into their everyday lives. They made a good team. But then, the old woman thought, they always had.  
  
She continued her walk through the sunlit clearing. She was drawing close to the shelter now, close enough that her faded blue eyes could pick out the primitive designs patterning the curtains, close enough that she could see the face of the old man who lay stretched out on the hammock. As she'd suspected, he was indeed asleep, his eyes closed, age-creased but still-strong features utterly relaxed in slumber. Her hands, her eyes, her lips knew every curve and line and angle of that face, as surely as they knew every contour of that long body, as surely as his own hands and eyes and lips knew every centimeter of her own face and form. They had had a lifetime to make those explorations. Her lips turned up at the memories.  
  
*****  
*****  
"Now," he said softly, one strong warm hand on her hip, the other cupping her breast so that there was no mistaking his meaning.  
  
"Here?" she said, less certainly, looking around the broad, flat, sunny fields. They had been lovers for some time now, but their encounters until this had been within their shelter, often in the big four-poster he had made with his own hands, on the blankets he had woven. Despite their present situation, she was still bound by inhibitions she had learned in their other life, inhibitions that said this activity required the privacy only enclosure could afford.  
  
"Yes." His dark eyes were heavy-lidded, intense with desire, as they captured her gaze. The hand on her hip lightly squeezed, the hand on her breast gently massaged, until she shivered with wanting despite her reservations. "I want you right here," he murmured, soft voice hypnotic, "on the soil of this world, our world, beneath the sky and the sun. I want the breezes to caress you when I do." His hand unfastened the buttons of her blouse, slid within, cupping and stroking her until she moaned softly with the sensation. "I want to hear you crying out your joy for all of New Earth to hear."  
  
"Yes," she murmured, and undid the fastenings of her skirt, letting it fall to the ground. Blouse and undergarments soon joined it, and she stood before him as nude as Eve. In his turn, he shed his own clothes with a deliberate grace and an evident arousal that proved him all-too-aware of both her nudity and her watching eyes. Then he bore her to the ground, applying hands and lips and tongue to her most sensitive, most sacred places until she cried out, his masculine scent, the smell of the soil, the warmth of the sun, the feel of the wind, his caresses, her own desire blending until she was not sure where the two of them ended and where the world began. He rose above her then, his big tan body a darker silhouette against the blue, blue sky.  
*****  
*****  
  
She knelt beside the old man and smiled, thin fingers tracing the soft skin over his cheekbone. He snorted a little at the caress and stirred, opening dark, sleep-fogged eyes to look into hers. "Wasn't...." he began, blearily.  
  
"I know," said the old woman softly, stroking his silver hair, and he smiled.  
  
A moment and a jaw-cracking yawn later, he asked, "So what were you gathering out there?"  
  
"Oh, something." She showed him her prize, and his eyes lit up at the sight of the tasty little berries. He extended a hand toward the bucket, but she tugged it back, out of his reach.  
  
He sighed the sigh of the much-put-upon, though his lips turned up at the corners. "I suppose you expect me to work for those?"  
  
"You know it, old man." She levered herself to her feet, extended a hand to him. "Get thee to thy kitchen."  
  
With some effort, and a little more groaning than the task required, they extricated him from the hammock's clutches. He bent stiffly to collect the bucket, muttering with patently mock irritation, "Bake this, cook that, make me the other thing, get thee to thy kitchen. Pushy old woman."  
  
"Cranky old man." She smiled, leaning up to kiss him. Placing a hand on his arm, she walked with him the dozen or so meters to the shelter.  
  
"So what will it be today, ma'am?" he asked, rummaging under the sink for a strainer and filling it with berries, preparatory to rinsing them. She took a seat at the narrow counter, the better to watch him work. "Muffins? Cookies? Berry bread?"  
  
She gave the matter all the thought she would once have given a diplomatic problem. "Pie," she pronounced at last, and he groaned theatrically.  
  
"I should have known better than to think you'd give me a break," he moaned, snagging some berries out of the strainer and bringing them to his mouth before bending to collect a few more pots and pans. "Every time I offer you a choice, you always--what's that?" he said suddenly, cocking his head as if listening. She hadn't heard anything, but she followed his lead. Then she heard it.  
  
The sound, which would have been familiar to either of them forty-five years ago, had been so long unheard to seem almost foreign: the crackle of static, emerging from the commbadges which had been left to gather dust on their shelf, these many years ago. Kathryn's hand flew to her mouth, and Chakotay looked grim. After all these years, had someone finally found their sanctuary? They had no friends or allies in this quadrant, and their only hope for rescue had passed out of range some forty-five years since. And she and he were old, so old, too old to defend themselves. //Please, God, not now,// she found herself almost praying. //Not now. Move on. Leave us in peace!//  
  
Then there came a voice, slightly distorted by interference. Like the static itself, it would have been familiar forty-five years ago, but neither of them had heard it in all the years since. "This is Admiral Tuvok aboard the U.S.S. Mercury, calling Captain Janeway or Commander Chakotay. Captain Janeway, Commander Chakotay, please respond."  
  
Obediently, Kathryn opened her mouth, but found she was too shocked to think of anything to say. Tuvok? After all these years? It couldn't be. Her mind must be playing tricks--  
  
But if it was, so too was Chakotay's, for he was looking toward the commbadges, his mouth slightly open, utter disbelief in his eyes.  
  
The voice that hailed them was impossibly calm, impossibly level, impossibly--Vulcan. "Captain Janeway, Commander Chakotay, if you are able to do so, please respond." Then came words that Kathryn knew must be real, for she would not have imagined her old friend saying them in ten times forty-five years: "I am extremely concerned for your welfare."  
  
"Tuvok," she managed finally, through dry lips. "Tuvok, we're here. We're all right."  
  
After a moment, the Vulcan responded, "I am pleased to learn that is the case. I am also most pleased to report that we have discovered a cure for the illness that necessitated your confinement to this planet. We will be beaming to your position shortly, with the intent of effecting your rescue."  
  
Chakotay was still staring in shock at the commbadges.  
  
**********  
  
Kathryn and Chakotay were waiting outside their shelter when the landing party beamed down, a small group of men in late middle age, or perhaps a little older, and a woman who looked to be their contemporary. All of them wore garments that Kathryn did not recognize, close-fitting garb alike enough in color and cut to be uniforms. Tuvok was instantly recognizable, of course; scion of a long-lived race, he was unchanged save for the whiteness of his hair and a few age lines around eyes and mouth. "Captain, Commander," he said, in his deep, even voice. "I am pleased to see that you are well."  
  
"Fine," she said, her voice hoarse, her hand closing tightly over Chakotay's arm. "We're fine."  
  
Except for Tuvok, the newcomers stared at Kathryn and Chakotay, looking almost as surprised as Kathryn felt. The woman in the group was small and wiry, with huge chocolate-brown eyes and a length of long, smooth, gray-black hair that fell almost to her waist, from above a high, ridged forehead. "B'Elanna," Chakotay murmured, sounding dazed.  
  
"Chakotay!" the woman cried in a very familiar voice, and took a few steps forward to catch him in what looked to be a strong hug. After a moment's hesitation, he hugged her back, thin arms wrapping themselves around her slender body.  
  
One of the men grinned, and suddenly Kathryn recognized him as well, though he had not changed quite in the way she would have imagined. But then, she should have remembered that Tom Paris was far too vain to let himself go bald simply because that was what his genetics decreed; instead, his hair was white, slightly wavy, and thicker than it had been even in the time they had shared on Voyager. But she would have known his grin, and the sparkle it brought to already-brilliant blue eyes, anywhere or anywhen. "Not on the planet two minutes, and she's already deserting me for another man," he sighed melodramatically. "Doesn't even bother to find out if he's married."  
  
"You never used to worry about that," the last man in the group said, matching Tom's grin. Between the voice and the smile, she recognized him too: Harry Kim, though she had never thought to see her former Ops Officer, whom she remembered as being straight out of the Academy, at nearly seventy: long, salt-and-pepper hair gathered into a tail at his neck, epicanthic fold at his eyes deepened, little lines of flesh striating either side of his Adam's apple.  
  
"I didn't, but I should have," Paris parried, stepping forward to take Kathryn into his arms. "Good to see you again, Captain."  
  
Startled, she returned the hug, though it felt strange to close her arms around someone so tall and so thin. "Tom." Then Harry was hugging her too, and B'Elanna, and Tom was clapping Chakotay's back and Harry shaking his hand, and Kathryn's heart raced because the whole thing was unnerving, the population of their world suddenly trebled and everyone so close, surrounding them, touching them. So much, so fast....Only Tuvok remained aloof from the physical contact, but the Vulcan's dark eyes radiated approval, even--if that were possible--pleasure.  
  
When the mobbing finally stopped, Kathryn asked, somewhat breathlessly, "So how did you get here? You obviously made it out of the Delta Quadrant."  
  
"Decades ago," Tom confirmed, smiling again. "We found a wormhole that took us almost to the borders of Federation space. With the Dominion War going on, Starfleet needed every ship they could get, so--"  
  
Chakotay held up a hand. "Dominion War?"  
  
There was sadness in B'Elanna's dark eyes as she looked at him. "Later, Chakotay." He subsided, uncertainly.  
  
Tuvok took up the story. "As Voyager's crew had demonstrated the ability to work as an effective unit, Starfleet permitted them to remain a unit, including those crewmembers who had formerly served in the Maquis. At the conclusion of the war, the former Maquis received pardons in exchange for their contribution to the defense of the Federation." Kathryn was vaguely gratified to hear that; in her days as captain, she had often wondered what would become of Chakotay's erstwhile crew once Voyager reached the Alpha Quadrant. "Many former Maquis also received monetary settlements, and some were even offered commissions." B'Elanna inclined her head. "Many of the ship's Starfleet officers received commendations and promotions." Tom and Harry nodded briefly; this obviously included them.  
  
"We never forgot you," Harry said quietly. "We just didn't think there was anything we could do for you. You were so far behind us, and besides, we still hadn't come up with a cure for the bug that made us leave you here. But Starfleet had decided to keep our Doctor active, for research work and so he could teach some of the things he'd learned in the Delta Quadrant. Once he had access to an updated Federation medical database--"  
  
"And research assistants," Tom put in.  
  
"--and research assistants, and Starfleet medical labs, he found a cure in a few years."  
  
"But we still didn't have any way to get it to you," B'Elanna added, "until someone," she smiled broadly, "invented tetra drive."  
  
"Tetra drive?" Kathryn echoed; it was a term she'd never heard before.  
  
"*Someone*?" Chakotay asked, looking right at B'Elanna, his suspicion clear.  
  
"Not me," she demurred. "I was in on the development, but I didn't come up with the basic design." She looked pointedly at the youngest of her companions.  
  
"Don't underestimate your contribution, B'Elanna," Harry said earnestly.  
  
"I don't," she shot back. "Or yours."  
  
Just when she would have become frustrated with the evasiveness, Tuvok said concisely, "Rear Admiral Kim formed the initial conceptualizations that led to the development of tetralithium drive. Captain Torres-Paris was instrumental in their implementation."  
  
Too much information, too fast....Kathryn's head spun. She couldn't decide what she wanted to ask about first: the drive or the form of B'Elanna's name that she'd just heard. In the end, she and Chakotay each blurted out a different question, both at the same time.  
  
She demanded, "*Tetra*lithium drive?"  
  
He pressed, "Captain Torres-*Paris*?"  
  
Tom favored them both with that still-ingenuous grin of his. "Pull up some chairs, folks. We've got a lot to talk about."  
  
**********  
  
They talked well into the evening, until their shadows grew long, until the sky took on a soft shade of pink, then a deeper one, until the flowers closed and all but the nocturnal insects had called it a night. Harry returned to the ship long enough to replicate an assortment of dinner dishes, including a few Kathryn and Chakotay had favored in their younger days (they were astonished that anyone remembered): beef stroganoff, corn salad, mushroom soup. She had not eaten meat in many years, and chewed it thoughtfully, almost experimentally; it tasted...different. Despite a mildly aggrieved look from Chakotay, Kathryn brought out the bucket of berries and shared it around for dessert. The travellers were delighted.  
  
There was, indeed, a lot to talk about. She was fascinated to hear Harry's description of the development of tetralithium drive, which their vessel, the Mercury, was the first Starfleet ship to employ. It proved to be an ultra-efficient, ultra-powerful "slipstream" drive that had enabled Tuvok and his company to travel from old Earth to New Earth in mere months. "Of course," Tom qualified, "that was after Admiral Straight-and-Narrow here overrode the security codes Starfleet installed, to keep us from taking her out too far."  
  
"If the test of a drive system does not challenge the capabilities of that system, then that test serves no purpose," the Vulcan answered serenely.  
  
Harry snickered. "Then this one served a purpose, all right."  
  
"Yes, it did," Kathryn agreed, with a tiny, closed smile for her old friend. However he justified his actions, Tuvok had probably risked what had become a very long Starfleet career by taking a prototype vessel on a journey well outside Federation demesnes, and she--probably along with everyone else in the assemblage--knew damned well he hadn't done it for any "logical" reason.  
  
Chakotay added quietly, "Thank you, Tuvok."  
  
"One does not thank logic, Commander," the Vulcan corrected primly.  
  
"Of course not." The Native American inclined his gray head. "But it's been many years since I've served in Starfleet, Tuvok. Please call me Chakotay."  
  
"As you wish."  
  
It transpired that, however effective tetralithium drive was, it wasn't going to become common any time soon. "The only place we've actually found tetralithium is on Melanatha Seven," Harry explained, "and we haven't had any luck replicating it. We'll keep trying, though."  
  
"I'm sure," Kathryn agreed.  
  
As fascinating as the subject of the drive, though, was the subject of what had happened to Voyager's crew. As B'Elanna's present surname suggested, she and Tom Paris had indeed married; some years ago, in fact, while they were still on Voyager. Their stormy courtship was a story all on its own, and they took turns telling it on one another, laughing. Then they passed around holos of their children. It seemed very strange to Kathryn to look at the faces of Tom and B'Elanna's children and realize that the younger Parises were, in fact, older than Tom and B'Elanna had been when she'd known them on Voyager. Old enough to have children of their own, in fact, and there were a few of those pictures as well.  
  
Kathryn remembered how much she had wanted to give Chakotay children. The one great sadness of their lives together was that they hadn't dared make babies, knowing that those children would be sentenced to live alone on New Earth once she and Chakotay died. But she had always thought that they would have had beautiful children, he and she; perhaps a little girl with long dark hair and a stubborn will, or a little boy with laughing eyes and a quick wit....She looked at Chakotay, and saw the same wistful sorrow in his expression that she knew must be in her own. He reached over and took her hand in his, holding it tightly. Tuvok's observant eyes seemed to mark the touch, and she thought the Vulcan might have guessed their thoughts. Tuvok had always known her well, better than anyone save the man who had shared her life.  
  
But the others were still talking. It seemed that Harry had also taken a wife, a Delta Quadrant native who had agreed to join Voyager's crew; they'd eventually made a home on Earth, and made two children, a son and a daughter, together. Holos were again duly circulated, and Kathryn noted, with a tiny twist of pain, that the younger Kims had beautiful brown eyes.  
  
They learned that Carey's wife had still been waiting for him when he returned to Earth, and the engineer had celebrated by making another child with her, a girl to whom they'd given the fine traditionally-Irish name of "Kathryn." Sam Wildman had reunited with her husband, and they were still together, though Naomi--now married and a commander in Starfleet--remained their only child. As for the Delaney sisters, they had married identical-twin brothers and the two couples shared a house in San Francisco; what *else* they shared was the subject of raucous speculation by Tom, Harry, and B'Elanna.  
  
Things hadn't gone quite so well for the former Maquis of the crew, even though their service in the Dominion War had assured them of pardons from the previous criminal charges against them. Thanks to the Cardassians' alliance with a power from the Gamma Quadrant, the Maquis organization, along with most members of the group and many planets that had supported them, had been annihilated well before Voyager ever returned to Alpha. As a result, many of Voyager's Maquis had had no homes, or families, to return to. (Chakotay's lips tightened, his dark eyes going distant. Janeway squeezed his hand.) Still, they had been resettled, most of them choosing to make their new homes on other colony worlds, far from the Cardassian border. Tabor, Chell, and Henley were among those who had taken spouses and started families; Kathryn heard, with a distant amusement, that the headstrong Dalby had actually been elected to the government on his adopted planet. From what she remembered of him, she only hoped he had no power to declare war. She said as much, and her Human (and Human/Klingon) guests laughed.  
  
There were more stories, more relationships and children and career advancements to be recounted. Tom took the lead in tale-telling (which didn't surprise Kathryn; the pilot had always had an ear for gossip), with Harry, B'Elanna, and occasionally even Tuvok filling in gaps in his information. Then Tuvok, pressed to describe his own history, recounted an understated tale of career achievements and family events, finally concluding by showing a small holo of his very young great-granddaughter.  
  
By then it was almost nightfall. Producing a medical tricorder, Tom took readings first of Kathryn, then of Chakotay. "Have to make sure you guys don't have anything else that could give you problems with the antidote." Kathryn felt her heartbeat quicken, and noticed that Chakotay, beside her, looked distinctly uncomfortable. Reading the results by porch light, Tom pronounced, "Nothing but some minor age-related ailments, nothing they can't take care of back home. Hell, nothing I couldn't take care of here, if you want it done sooner. And nothing that'll interfere with this." He flourished a hypo, and Harry and B'Elanna grinned with what looked like a mix of relief and pleasure.  
  
"Your ticket home," the pilot and erstwhile medic said, smiling himself as he administered the shots. Kathryn thought she felt some stinging at the injection site, and Chakotay rubbed his arm. "We can't take you right back to the ship, I'm afraid. From everything the Doc could figure out, you'll need at least twenty-four hours to metabolize this. Better allow at least forty-eight, just to be safe." Tom looked around the complex, at the sturdy buildings Chakotay had designed and he and Kathryn had erected. "Well, I guess you'll want a while to get ready to go, anyway."  
  
"We are returning to the Mercury for the night," Tuvok said. "As you quite understandably are not prepared to accommodate guests, we will not impose on your hospitality this evening. However, we will return in the morning to assist you with your departure preparations. Please feel free to contact us immediately if you experience any distress or discomfort as a result of the injections."  
  
"We will," Kathryn said, already feeling a little odd. Because of the injection? She couldn't tell.  
  
"We will," Chakotay echoed.  
  
Then the little party beamed back to their ship, leaving Kathryn and Chakotay alone on the surface of the world they had shared for the last forty-five years.  
  
Quietly they cleaned up the area where they'd hosted their first--and, it seemed, last--guests on New Earth. Chakotay seemed withdrawn, a little remote, in that quiet way he sometimes had. She wondered whether he was going to go to his sacred spot, try to meditate, as he sometimes did when things affected him deeply. (He had gone there many nights after their discussions of children, or after the times they'd pondered Voyager's fate.) But when everything was cleared away, and the dishes set to soak, he simply stripped down to his usual sleeping garb, his shorts, and prepared for bed.  
  
For herself, Kathryn felt nervous, uncertain, and did not know why. Surely this should be a happy occasion for her, for both of them. How many nights had they talked about what it might be like to see their old crew again? To see the stars? To see Earth? But now that the one desire had been partially fulfilled, and the others were on the verge of satisfaction, she felt strangely unsettled. Just this afternoon, she had been looking forward to nothing more important than wheedling her partner into making a pie, and now she was supposed to prepare to return to the Alpha Quadrant. This was all happening so fast....  
  
She changed into a light, soft nightgown and performed her evening ablutions before braiding her long hair back and joining Chakotay in their bed.  
  
With the diminishing appetites of age, it had been many nights since they'd made love, but that night he caressed her, silently, intently, his mouth and fingers evoking aching need in her, then deftly answering it. She returned the touches, the kisses, taking in the sights and sounds and sensations of his pleasure even more avidly and attentively than she had, so much earlier, experienced their world.  
  
//Our world....//  
  
He drew the blankets up over them both, and fell asleep holding her tightly.  
  
*********  
  
Kathryn awoke much later to discover that she was alone in the big bed. Donning a robe against the night air's chill, and light shoes against the dew-soaked grass, she made her way outdoors. Had Chakotay gone out to meditate at this late hour? "Old fool," she fretted, "what if you stumble in the dark? It would serve you right if you broke a bone."  
  
But he had only gone as far as the little space they'd designated their "front yard," the area right in front of their shelter, where they'd entertained their so-very-unexpected visitors earlier. His tall figure was silhouetted clearly against the starry night sky, so that she could see the slight stoop of broad shoulders beneath the soft fabric of his own robe, and the upward tilt of his head. The sight of those bowed shoulders, the dull gleam of his gray hair, elicited a sweet, familiar tenderness in Kathryn. They had grown old together, he and she....  
  
Looking upward and outward, he did not seem to mark her approach. She would have spoken, so as not to startle him, but over the years she had grown respectful of his need to commune with nature, with their world. She knew that he would notice her when he was ready.  
  
Then she saw the quiver of his head, of his body, and the twin tracks of silver slanting down his wrinkled cheeks.  
  
Without another word, she went to him, wrapping her thin arms around his broad back, resting her head against the still-strong, still-steady beat of the heart that had cherished her these many years. After a moment's startlement, he returned the embrace, his own arms curving around her back to gather her close, his head bowing over hers. His once-rich tenor quavered as he whispered, "This is where I've loved you."  
  
She snuggled closer, feeling a sense of rightness she had not known since just after the first time she had made love to this man. Now she knew why she had felt so strange earlier, so unsettled: she had been given what she wished, but when she no longer wished it. Once upon a long-forgotten time, she would have given everything she had, everything she was, to return to Voyager, to finish its mission, to finally set foot on Earth again. But now she saw that her ship, her people, her old world had gone on without her; they did not need her any longer, nor she them. With that knowledge, her dream of going back to them had evaporated just as the dew on the grass would evaporate at the touch of the sun.  
  
Here was her world. Here was her life.  
  
"This is where we'll stay," she said simply. "Shh, don't cry, my sweet old fool."  
  
**********  
  
"I had suspected that might be your desire," Tuvok said, with characteristic calmness.  
  
"I don't want it to seem as if we're not grateful, Tuvok. We are, very much." She smiled warmly at him, reaching forward to touch him lightly on one slim shoulder. Chakotay stood behind her, his arms wrapped around her waist; though she could not see his face, she thought he was smiling too. "We never dreamed anyone would come so far, after all this time. Not for us."  
  
"Hey," Paris offered, one arm around his wife's back, "it just made sense to us. If it hadn't been for you guys, we wouldn't have known we could get anywhere at all."  
  
"Thanks, Tom," Chakotay said quietly.  
  
"Besides, there's still stuff we can do for you before we go."  
  
**********  
  
It could be argued that this was not something Kathryn and Chakotay needed. After all, they had been living as husband and wife for at least forty-four of the last forty-five years. But Kathryn was, in some respects, still a child of her culture, and some part of her wanted a ritual, and witnesses, to attest to her relationship with the man she loved.  
  
Tuvok performed the ceremony, in the middle of the clearing in front of their home. A soft breeze stirred Kathryn's hair, caressed her arms, and carried the fresh scent of growing things to her nostrils, as the warm sun shone on her, on him, on all of them. Before their world, before their friends, they made their vows, each to the other. "I, Kathryn, take you, Chakotay...."  
  
Impudent as ever, Tom claimed the first kiss from the bride.  
  
**********  
  
"Don't forget to keep up Chakotay's arthritis treatments for at least a week. And there are instructions on the medical chip if you need them later yourself, Kathryn. If you have any trouble with--"  
  
"I'll read the data on the medical chip, yes Tom," Kathryn promised, smiling. She hugged him again, and this time he did not seem too tall or too thin; he was just Tom, once her officer, now her friend.  
  
"If you have any more problems with the generator--"  
  
"I'll kick it, yes B'Elanna," Chakotay promised. She cuffed him, and he flinched back in mock fear. Then, grinning, he stepped forward to hug her, and Kathryn heard him telling the engineer softly, "Take care of yourself, old woman."  
  
"You too, old man." She hugged him back.  
  
Harry stepped forward. "Kathryn, Chakotay. I'm glad you found what you wanted."  
  
"Thank you, Harry. For everything," Kathryn said with real warmth. What an amazing man he had become, to make something like the tetra drive, and to be so loyal to his commanders of a year-and-a-half to use it on their behalf. She hugged him, and Chakotay clapped him on the back.  
  
Last of all was Tuvok. "Old friend," she said softly; though a part of her wished she could make some more effusive display to this dear former companion, another part knew he was Vulcan enough not to welcome such extravagant displays.  
  
"I will always be your friend, Kathryn," he returned gravely. "And yours, Chakotay."  
  
"You've already proven that," Chakotay answered, as solemnly. "Peace and long life, Tuvok of Vulcan." He attempted the Vulcan salute with less than complete success.  
  
Tuvok, of course, returned the gesture flawlessly. "Live long and prosper, Kathryn and Chakotay of New Earth."  
  
Tears came to Kathryn's eyes, at the blessing, at the appellation he had bestowed on them, at the thought that this was the last time she would ever see him. She restrained the tears, aware that even now that would be his preference. "Goodbye, Tuvok."  
  
In a gesture without precedent in all of their previous relationship, the Vulcan reached forward and took her hand.  
  
**********  
  
The old woman raised a hand to shade her eyes, as she stepped out of the woods and into the bright sunlight of the clearing. The fingers of her other hand curled tightly around the handle of a dulled-gray bucket. In the bucket were berries, of the small, dark-red, flavorful variety her husband loved above all the other fruits of New Earth.  
  
As she advanced steadily through the clearing, her faded blue eyes picked out the details of the lodging that graced its center. Once it had been a Starfleet emergency shelter, surrounded by outbuildings of native timber.  
  
Now it was her home.  
  
She breathed in the sweet, fresh air of her homeworld, and smiled.  
  
--END-- 


End file.
